


The Green Ring: Companion Shorts

by AllisonChance



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Companion Piece, F/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29790687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllisonChance/pseuds/AllisonChance
Summary: A collection of short companion scenes to my story "The Green Ring."
Relationships: Glorfindel (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	The Green Ring: Companion Shorts

**Author's Note:**

> As I wrote "The Green Ring" I sometimes had to write scenes from other character's POV so that I could decide how they were thinking before/after they interacted with Charlotte. I'll update these scenes here as we come across them in the main story. 
> 
> This first companion one shot is Chapter 15 from Glorfindel's POV.

Glorfindel rode ahead of the wagon, eyes scanning the side of the road. Halbarad said that Aragorn and the woman had taken shelter twenty miles west of the ford behind an outcropping of rocks not far from the road. He sniffed. He could smell a campfire even though he could not see the smoke. He patted Asfaloth’s neck and the horse tossed his head, his silver bells jingling in the breeze. He hoped the sound would carry to wherever Aragorn was hidden. Even the trolls recognized the tingle of Asfaloth’s silver bells, though they had learned over many centuries of experience to stay well away from the sound of any bells. Silver bells heralded the arrival of an elf lord and his biting steel blade.

Ahead there was a rustle in the undergrowth and then Aragorn sprung out from behind a tumble of boulders, raising a hand in welcome.

Glorfindel called, “Ai, at last, Westman! Well, met!”

“Well met, old friend!” said Aragorn.

He drew Asfaloth to a halt and the horse shook his head, shaking the bells. Glorfindel slid down from his horse and embraced his friend. “Halbarad has sent us to look for you.”

Aragorn clapped his back then stepped back, despite his relief at seeing his old friend, worry still lingered on his face. “Yes, my friend is injured and cannot travel any further.”

Glorfindel slung his satchel over his shoulder and then the elf followed the man off of the road. Asfaloth stood where he had been left and nudged a tuft of grass with his nose. 

“So he said. There is a cart coming behind me, but I have ridden ahead to share my meager skills in healing.”

They pushed through the undergrowth towards the boulders. Glorfindel could smell the campfire and hear the sound of someone moving on the other side of the boulders. 

“Meager?” Aragorn laughed. “You discredit yourself.”

“Perhaps,” said Glorfindel as he and Aragorn climbed over the boulders and dropped down on the other side.

The woman lying on the bedroll on the other side of the boulder was startling and strange. Her spirit and soul were anchored as firmly as any of the Eldar, but at the same time it was as fleeting as any man. She was not from Arda or even from Eä that much was clear. Her skin was chalky white and her entire left cheek, wrapped in a scarf, was swollen and red. She was laying under cloaks and another bedroll but she shivered from a fever. Her lips were chapped and her hair was matted with sweat and dirt. 

She was beautiful. 

Glorfindel knelt beside her. Her glassy eyes followed his every movement, wide and staring.

“I am Glorfindel. I dwell in the House of Elrond.”

“Hi,” she whispered through parched lips. She lifted her head and wrinkled her forehead, as if she were confused. He thought it might be her fever. She sat up and swayed and he worried she might topple over again, but she regained her balance and blinked furiously as if she were dizzy.

“May I see your face?” he asked.

She nodded. 

Her face was burning hot under his fingers. He ran his fingers lightly over the scarf which served as a bandage. She winced. Deftly, he removed the scarf. The line of stitches, which he recognized as Aragorn’s careful work, was puckered and oozing. Streaks of red radiated out from the stitches across her cheeks and down her jaw, reaching, stretching for her neck. Deadly infection was well established.

“Ai!” he cried at the sight of her wound. He shook his head. A finger traced the puckered ridge of stitches. “What happened, little friend?”

“I lost a sword fight with a hill,” she said solemnly.

He swallowed a guffaw but could not help the smile spread across his face. 

She smiled back at him. “Don’t worry, I won.”

“I would hate to see the hill,” he replied. Despite her condition, his heart felt lighter at the sight of her smile and their shared joke. He put his hand over hers and squeezed it. Then he opened his satchel and took out a brown glass jar filled with salve. It was a salve of Elrond’s own design, made to cleanse a wound in the field and prevent the spread of infection. He broke the wax seal and it smelled like mint and thyme. “May I?”

At her nod, he smeared a thick yellow-green paste on her cheek. He took care to be gentle. He could only imagine how tender her injury was. From the satchel he took a long snow white ribbon of gauze. He tenderly wrapped her wounded cheek. When he finished, she laid back down. He drew the bedroll and cloak up to her chin and laid a hand on her forehead. Her fever concerned him. He willed it to recede and felt the heat beneath his palm lessen.

Next, he turned his attention to her ankle. Aragorn stood beside him, worried, his arms crossed over his chest. Glorfindel ran his fingers so lightly over the strips of bound cloth on her ankle that she couldn’t even feel them. He cupped her heel in one hand, and ran his other up and down over her ankle, her shin, her calf and her foot. The bone was broken. He encouraged it to knit together and the swelling to subside. As he focused his attention on her injured ankle, he felt her relax, her stiff and tense muscles easing.

“In my bags I have some medicines that will help with the pain, but one of the bones is broken and is offset from its proper position. Already your body is trying to mend the break but if it continues on its course you will be left with pain your whole life long. I do not have the skills to set it right, but in Imladris Elrond will be able to.” He withdrew his hands and stood and whistled.

From behind the rocks on the road he heard Asfaloth nicker in response. He saw her eyes grow wide again when the horse walked around the boulders into the little camp. 

“Asfaloth, my horse,” said Glorfindel fondly. He crossed the camp in two strides and opened one of the saddle bags.

Aragorn crouched beside the woman and spoke in a low voice. “You can trust Glorfindel. He is loyal and true.”

“Does he have x-ray fingers?” she whispered back.

Aragorn wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “I do not understand…”

“Here I have salve for your ankle and a tonic to numb the pain,” said Glorfindel, pretending he had not heard their conversation. He had long ago learned how much the sharp hearing of the Eldar unnerved unsuspecting men. “May I unwrap your ankle?”

She nodded. 

He knelt next to her again and she pulled the bedroll to the side. He was as gentle as he was before as he deftly removed the rags Aragorn used to bind her ankle. The bruising, if possible, looked even worse than it did before. She clenched her teeth and shut her eyes. Her lashes with wet with unshed tears. 

“What is your name?” he asked as he rubbed the salve between his palm.

“I’m Charlotte,” She said , screwing up her face at the pain. But she relaxed little by little as with each stroke of his hands her ankle numbed a little more. Only under the ministrations of a proper healer would she find true relief from her pain, but he hoped that he might dull it enough that she could make the trip to Imladris in relative comfort.

“Well met, Charlotte.” He smiled. He’d never heard a name like that before. A lovely name which suited her well. “How did you end up with such an injury?”

“Aragorn got us lost.”

“I did not!” Aragorn protested.

“I am not surprised,” said Glorfindel. “He was forever getting lost as a child.”

“You knew him when he was a kid?” Charlotte opened her eyes. They were hazel. A color not seen amongst the Eldar. Green and brown with flecks of gold. They reminded him of sunlight filtering through the trees on a summer day.

“I did indeed. He grew up in Imladris. I was his tutor in swordplay.” Glorfindel laid her ankle down on the bedroll and reached for a folded length of linen bandage. “Once we spent the better part of an evening combing the valley looking for a lost seven year old. We finally found him clinging to the top of a tree, too frightened to climb back down.”

A smile tugged at the uninjured corner of her mouth. Aragorn sat beside the fire with his face in his hands.

“Do you have any other embarrassing stories about him?”

“Hundreds,” said Glorfindel with a smile of delight. “So very many embarrassing stories.”

“Excellent,” Charlotte said. “We’re going to be good friends.”

He laughed and his heart rose when she laughed with him. Even as pained as she was, she was still good natured and had a quick sense of humor. He liked that. He tied off the bandage and tucks the ends neatly underneath. 

The tonic was next. It was was a mild sedative and analgesic.

“Drink it all,” he said as he handed it to her. 

She took the bottle and pushed herself up onto her elbows to drink it. She wrinkled her nose in surprise at the taste but then downed it. She handed it back to him and sighed. He caught her shoulders as her eyes fell closed and she slept. Gently he lowered her back onto the bedroll. He smoothed her hair away from her face. Then he stood and swept his cloak off of his shoulders and covered her with it, tucking it around her shoulders. He felt her forehead one last time. Still warm, but slightly less so.

“What happened?” he asked Aragorn in a sotto voice.

Aragorn leaned back against the boulder. “She slipped and fell. I have never seen anything like it. Her sword was sheathed but as she fell it came loose and cut her.”

Glorfindel sat down beside his friend. “How? Is the scabbard damaged?”

Aragorn shook his head. “No, in fact both the scabbard and sword are in excellent condition.” He reached over to his little pile of baggage and lifted up the sword in its scabbard and handed it to Glorfindel.

Glorfindel pulled the sword free, brow raising in surprise. “This is from Cardolan!”

“Aye, from the Barrow-Downs,” said Aragorn.

“How did it she acquire it?” Glorfindel said, staring down the blade. It was exemplary craftsmanship, forged to fight against the Witch King. He turned it in his hand, the fire opal catching in the light.

“She was ambushed by a barrow wight while crossing the Downs with Mithrandir. She was unscathed and claimed the sword after her victory.”

“Indeed?” Glorfindel looked at the woman sleeping across from them. She had not just survived an encounter with a barrow wight, but she had taken its sword. A smile flit across his face. She might look small and weak but she must have a spine of steel. Her ability to crack a joke while ravaged by infection and injury was further evidence of her resilience.

He and Aragorn discussed the best way to rendezvous with the cart but his mind was only half of their conversation. He kept looking over at the woman, at Charlotte. He couldn’t explain why she intrigued him so much. 

“Who is she?” he asked Aragorn suddenly.

“A friend of Mithrandir,” Aragorn said.

“Where is she from?” 

“That is her story to tell,” Aragorn said firmly.

“She is not quite man, is she?” he asked. “Or rather, she is fully of the race of man, but there is something else that I have never seen before.” Glorfindel looked at his friend but Aragorn’s expression gave nothing away. That alone was confirmation enough that there was an enigma surrounding the woman. He decided to probe further. “Even in Aman I have not seen a spirit like hers.”

“Huh,” said Aragorn. “Are you hungry?”

“Are you changing the topic?”

“We’ve got some venison here if you’re hungry.”

Glorfindel let the subject drop.

A few hours later, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charlotte stir. He watched her closely, to see if she was in any discomfort. She sighed as she woke and stretched. Feeling his cloak she opened her eyes and rubbed it between her fingers. She sat up and he gave her a quick smile. She said nothing so he and Aragorn let her sit quietly. She inspected her ankle and probed her cheek with a wary finger. Then she laid down, curled up on her side, eyes following him.

He could feel her eyes on him. His skin prickled under her gaze. Her stare was so intent that he felt his heartbeat quicken. He looked at her and their eyes met. Her eyes were summer and warmth. 

He winked at her.

She yelped and covered her eyes and he had to fight not to laugh. Even behind her hand he could see her smile. He liked her smile. It was as warm as her eyes. He decided that he was going to make her smile as often as he could.

Beside him Aragorn made an exasperated sound.

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot is a bit different from the others I have from later in the story in that it is essentially a line by line retelling of part of chapter 15, but from Glorfindel's POV. It was important for me to figure out what exactly was going through his head when he first met Charlotte.


End file.
